


The Long Road Home

by Saringold



Series: The Weeks of Our Lives [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Caspar goes on a journey, During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Eventual Happy Ending, Flashbacks, Gen, Just not Crimson Flower ofc, LGBTQ+ Background Characters, Mid-Canon, Minor Character Death, Reunions, Slight Mention of Blood, Talk/Mention of Death and Mourning, Unspecified Route, headcanons galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24970792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saringold/pseuds/Saringold
Summary: Caspar's travels take him all across the Alliance and Faerghus. It's a lonely 5 years of battle, new experiences, and occasional solitude, but lessons and memories from his friends and loved ones will see him through until he gets home.(A 6 + 1 fic focusing on Caspar's relationships with some of the most important people in his life.)This fic is for Caspar Week 2020!Day 1: Meals (Raphael)Day 2: Justice (Ashe)Day 3: Armor (Petra)Day 4: Celebration (Dorothea)Day 5: Training (Hilda)Day 6: Fishing (Linhardt)Day 7: Free Day (The Reunion)
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez & Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert, Caspar von Bergliez & Hilda Valentine Goneril, Caspar von Bergliez & Linhardt von Hevring, Caspar von Bergliez & Petra Macneary, Caspar von Bergliez & Raphael Kirsten, Dorothea Arnault & Caspar von Bergliez
Series: The Weeks of Our Lives [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035753
Comments: 21
Kudos: 27
Collections: Caspar Week 2020





	1. Meals (Raphael)

It was at times like this that it would be nice to have fire magic, Caspar thought as he tucked his hands deeper into his pockets to keep away the bitter chill. He shivered under his tattered coat, the cold sweeping down his spine and throughout his entire body; Faerghus winters were no joke, and while he had spent plenty of time outside ever since childhood, the milder winter climates he had experienced in Bergliez and even at Garreg Mach paled in comparison to this chill. Despite the fact that he had seen and experienced so much ever since the monastery fell and he had begun his journey across the Alliance and Faerghus, he had definitely underestimated just _how_ cold Faerghus winters could be. The cold seemed to seep deeply into his bones, sapping his strength, and it was only thanks to his sheer willpower (and several small bags of heated rocks that he had bought from a traveling merchant a few hours ago, as well as a second warm coat to wear under his overcoat) that he was still able to plant one foot in front of the other and keep his head held high until he reached his destination.

Caspar dug into his pocket and consulted his map again. He had been told in the last town he had visited that a small mountain village called Wintermoore was being besieged by bandits looking for food for the winter, and that no other mercenaries were willing to go because the pay was too low for such an arduous journey. The knights and even the local militias were in disarray as Faerghus struggled to mount a defense against the encroaching Empire, and overall, the situation was bleak for these tiny towns and villages as a result. Thus, Caspar decided to brave the cold and difficult trek, the fire blazing in his heart keeping him moving; these people needed help, and reward or not, he wasn’t about to leave them to their otherwise terrible fate.

He nimbly navigated the icy trails, sticking mostly to the snow in order to keep his footing (a lesson learned the hard way), as the winter wind howled in his ears and the afternoon sunlight practically blinded him. He chanced a glance to the west; the sun was already starting to set, and if he took much longer, it would become dangerous for him to stay outside. He clapped his cheeks and broke into a run, his axe bouncing lightly on his back; according to his map, the village should be close, and now it was a race against time. Caspar grinned; he loved races, and this was one he wouldn’t lose!

After about half an hour, as the last rays of sun began to dip dangerously low, Caspar reached the top of the trail, and rested his hands on his knees, panting. He brought his hand to his forehead, carefully wiping away the sweat; the last thing he wanted was for it to freeze and cause frostbite (another lesson learned the hard way). After a moment, he straightened up and took another deep, stabilizing breath. It had to be close now. He looked around, spotting a snow-covered sign, and took a quick look, sweeping away some of the snow; someone had scratched “Wintermoore, 10 km.” into the worn wood, as well as an arrow, and once he compared it to his map, it looked like it matched up. Perfect. However, now he had a decision to make; it was highly unlikely that he would make it there before nightfall, and spending the night out in the cold with just his tent was vastly unappealing. He sighed, hoping he might find a cave or something on the way, when he suddenly noticed another scratch in the sign. It seemed that there was more here. He brushed the rest of the snow away to see “Warmwood Inn, 2 km.” and an arrow pointing north. Caspar grinned. An inn? That was his best chance at resting for the night and continuing his journey tomorrow. While part of him burned at the thought of leaving those people waiting, he also had to admit even to himself that if he showed up bone tired and half dead, he would hardly be of help to anyone. His mind made up, he adjusted his pack and headed to the inn, sustaining himself on thoughts of a hot meal and a warm bath. Soon enough, he reached a welcoming two-story farmhouse with a sign out front, and he grinned, a shot of energy at seeing his goal shooting through him as he broke into a jog. He stopped just before the door and knocked twice, with a lady’s voice calling “Coming!” and the door opening just a crack soon after. “Yes?” the same voice called, and Caspar sighed in relief.

“Hi! I need a room for the night; it’s real cold out here, and the sun set just a little while ago.”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” the woman replied, and the door opened fully, allowing Caspar inside. He walked through the entryway, looking around at the quaint but comfortable surroundings, as she closed the door behind him. She seemed to be in her 40s, if Caspar had to guess, with a big, welcoming smile and rosy cheeks to match her tall and rounder figure. For some reason, she reminded him of Raphael. “Well! Look at you! Such a strapping young man. Please, make yourself at home; rooms are 100 gold per night, and meals an extra 10 gold each. Nobody else is staying at the moment, so you’re in luck; you get my nicest room, and I’ll get a nice meal on for you.”

Caspar handed her the money, and she bit it to test it, seeming satisfied as she counted the pieces out and handed him the key, then walked away into another room. “Write your name on the register there. There are towels on the bed.” Caspar nodded and began to write his name, printing “Caspar von Bergliez” as nicely as he could manage in his gauntlets, but paused and scratched out “von Bergliez.” If the innkeeper recognized that as an Imperial surname, that would surely bring questions, if not trouble, so Caspar scratched it out as best he could. It made things easier in the long run. 

He retired to his room, and was pleasantly surprised to see a comfortable looking bed, small oaken night table, another carved wooden table with a chair, and a closet, as well as a small adjoining room containing a chamber pot and a decently sized washtub. Caspar quickly changed, and came back downstairs to the dining area, following his nose and the appetizing scent of dinner. His eyes widened at the spread; this was a veritable feast compared to how he’d been eating, and he took a chair eagerly, ready to dig in. Across from him sat the innkeeper, looking like she was also going to dine with him. “Thanks a lot, Ms…?” 

The innkeeper chortled, a loud “ho ho ho” escaping her, and Caspar blinked, unused to seeing such an expression. “Call me Renna, dear. I’ve been the innkeeper of this place for 20 years, and yet it’s been awhile since I’ve met someone so polite.”

Caspar chuckled. “Believe me, according to some of my friends, that’s the last thing I am.” He looked at the table intently; before him laid an incredible array of dishes, including soup, roasted meat, boiled potatoes, fresh bread, pickled vegetables, and more. “Is this… all for me?”

Renna laughed. “It sure is; this isn’t usually the time for guests, so I have some good extras here, and you look like you could use some meat on your bones, young man! Go ahead, eat up!”

Caspar gave her a grateful smile and dug in, putting his manners aside as his stomach growled happily at the first real meal he’d had in days. “Oh man… this is delicious.” Something about it, despite being so simple, left him warm inside in a way that was hard to describe. 

She smiled at him, taking some soup for herself. “Thank you… it’s all from the heart.” 

He blinked at her. “From the heart, huh…” As he ate, he looked at Renna again, seeing her happy expression, and a memory flashed in his mind’s eye.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caspar found himself eating with Raphael in the dining hall, pondering the mysteries of making his heart bigger. They were chowing down on some pheasant when Raphael patted his stomach, giving a long “Ahhhhhhhh!” of satisfaction. “Oh man! That hit the spot. You know, Caspar, if you wanna think about the heart, for me, food and heart go together real well! You can’t have one without the other.”

“Oh yeah?” Caspar said, putting down his food and looking at his friend, waiting for him to elaborate. Raphael nodded energetically. 

“Sure! See, when you cook, it comes from the heart, right? When my mom and dad died, my little sis and I had to learn to cook for ourselves! Maya was pretty bad at first, but I ate everything she made because it came from the heart! She got better at it too; I think she might want to open a restaurant one day!”

“Wow… sounds like your sister’s got it all figured out, huh?” Caspar asked, poking at his food with his fork.

Raphael laughed. “Maybe! She sounds happy in her letters, so that’s all I can ask for. But yeah, so, maybe by trying to cook yourself, you’ll see your heart grow! I know I always feel better when people enjoy what I give them, and maybe by cooking, your muscles will grow too, somehow!”

Caspar nodded, his energy restored. “Yeah, I get what you’re saying! I’ll give it a try!”

Raphael laughed. “That’s the spirit! ...Also, you gonna finish that?”

The next day, Caspar and Raphael met up in the kitchen. “Ok, show me what to do! If I learn to cook, that’ll help me grow!”

The other student looked at him kindly. “Sure! Do you know much about cooking?”

“Nope! I’ve been told I’m pretty bad at it!”

“Well, that’s alright! We’ve all gotta start somewhere.” Raphael got out a pan and placed a piece of meat into it. “Alright, I grabbed this from the pantry. Here’s what we’re gonna do…”

An hour later, the two looked at the burnt piece of… something that they had to show for their effort and grimaced. “Well, at least I didn’t destroy the frying pan like last time,” Caspar sighed, although it was clear he was disappointed. Raphael placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Eh, so cooking’s not your thing. That’s fine! In that case, even if it’s not food, maybe there’s something else out there, something special to you, that gives you strength in here,” he said, patting at his chest where his heart would be. “For me, I like eating and making sure people eat! I’ll cook for anybody if it’ll help ‘em keep their strength up, even if I’m not that good at it. And when you eat with people, you get to know ‘em better, and you can become friends!”

Caspar looked at him with wide eyes. “Raphael…”

“I mean, I like eating, sure,” Raphael continued, “but I also like gettin’ to know the people I eat with! Whenever I talk to someone while we’re eating, I feel like I know ‘em a little better after! And even if I’m talkin’ to someone _about_ eating, I still walk away like ‘yeah, I know that guy just a little better now.’” Raphael shrugged. “The important thing about food’s that it brings people together! No matter who you are or who you’re eating with, now you’re pals! Just like the two of us.”

Caspar chuckled and gave his friend a big grin, bad mood broken. “Yeah, you’re right. I think I’m good on food for now, but wanna go train, pal?”

Raphael’s face broke into a grin wide enough to match. “You know it!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caspar set down his bowl with a thunk, sighing in satisfaction. “Thanks, Renna. This was really good.”

His host beamed. “I’m glad! You didn’t leave even a scrap behind!”

Caspar smiled as he met her gaze. “You know how you said that you cooked from the heart? Well, an old friend of mine said that he likes eating with people because that’s how you get to know them, and when he cooks, he always cooks from the heart. In fact, you kinda remind me of him. So, I couldn’t leave anything behind even if I’d wanted to.”

Renna laughed again, amused. “Good! Growing boys need nourishment.”

Caspar sighed in response. “I guess… the thing is, I’ve always been kinda small, and on this friend’s advice, I ate a lot to try and grow taller. That didn’t work. So then, as I was telling him that, he said all these nice things about me and I realized that he doesn’t just have a big body; he has a huge heart too, and I wanted to try growing mine. We tried cooking, but… that didn’t really work out.”

He looked down at the table, a little put out. “I don’t know what to do. I wanna grow taller, but not wider. And I want my heart to be bigger like his, but I don’t know how to grow it. And now that I’ve been on my own for a while, I don’t know who can tell me what I’m missing.”

Renna listened intently, then sighed and locked eyes with Caspar. “Unfortunately, I don’t have all the answers, but your friend’s right about one thing: just from sitting here and eating with you, I can already tell that you’ve got a good heart and a strong spirit. You’ve probably seen your fair share of battles, judging by all the marks on that coat you came in with, and for not being from around here, you sure don’t hold your cards close; if I had to guess, you’re a mercenary on your way to a job.”

Caspar looked at her, wide-eyed, and slammed his palms on the table. “Wha… how?!”

She burst into laughter, an expression of mirth on her face. “I’m just experienced. I’ve met all sorts of people, and like your friend, I get to know ‘em over a good meal and once in a while, I can help with their problems. That’s the reward you get for living, and don’t you forget it.”

“So… it really is good to just sit and eat with people, huh?”

She nodded. “Sure is. That’s how you learn things about ‘em, get a sense of who they are as people. If you’re gonna live the mercenary life, you’re gonna meet a whole lotta people, and it’s to your benefit to talk to ‘em, eat with ‘em, and really make yourself some friends. Nobody oughta live in this world by themself.”

Caspar sat silently, absorbing her words, and with a smile, Renna pushed back her chair, the wood scraping against the floor as she stood. “Now, then, why don't you stay right there and I’ll bring you some fresh sweet buns out of the oven.”

“Yes!” Caspar cheered, sticking his fist in the air. “Oh… but, Renna?”

“Hm?”

“I can’t stay longer than tonight, but when I’m done with my work, do you want me to come back and help you a bit around here? Not saying you need it or anything, but…” 

The innkeeper looked at him with surprise, then her face softened into a warm smile. “That’s sweet of you, dear, but not to worry. You, like all kids, have things you want to do, and you don’t need to be worrying over this old lady. Go live your life; there are others who need your help more than I do.”

“...Ok, if you say so. And one more thing: how did you know I wasn’t from here?”

“Oh, honey. You didn’t scratch your last name out very well. Best leave it off next time.”

Caspar blushed in embarrassment, red reaching up to the tips of his ears. “Right. Got it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once dinner had concluded and he had helped Renna with the dishes and other chores, Caspar sunk into his bed, grateful that he had found this place. Renna really was like Raphael, he thought, but… older. And wiser. And a woman. Ok, maybe not like Raphael exactly, but in the ways that mattered. He rolled over, closing his eyes. When he next saw Raphael… he would have to tell his friend all about his adventures and what he’d discovered, and maybe, just maybe, they could share a meal from the heart once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to follow my writing [twitter!](https://twitter.com/Saringold_)


	2. Justice (Ashe)

It was Market Day in Faelnor, a small hamlet in Galatea territory, and Caspar was standing in front of a baker’s stall, having just purchased his reward to himself for a long few days of travel. Caspar waved to the baker with a smile, the well-earned treat in his hands, and locating a bench nearby, he took a seat, ready to enjoy his lunch. The heavenly aroma of roasted meat and gravy, mixed with the scent of vegetables and herbs, wafted up from the freshly baked meat pie and the smell alone was enough to make Caspar’s stomach growl and his mouth water. Without delay, Caspar took his first big bite of the treat, the rich taste filling his mouth and stomach with warmth. Perfect. As soon as he brought the pie up to his lips again, however, a tug on his tunic made him look away.

A small child, maybe 6 to 8 years old, looked at him with big eyes and a hand outstretched, and Caspar felt his heart melting. Oh no. He had no defense against kids like this. His heart was wavering; on the one hand, he also needed food, but on the other, the poor kid was so skinny and their short, cropped hair noticeably dirty. Caspar surmised this must be their only pair of clothes as well, because their shirt and shorts were grimy and covered in stains and patches. He sighed, starting to tear a chunk of the uneaten part of his pie away; it would be fine, he could deal…

“Vael! No!” a voice barked, and a man strode out of an alley, barrel-chested and time tested. Just from looking at him, Caspar could tell that this was a man who had not only seen hardship, but overcome it. His physique was nothing to sneeze at, and if he had to guess by the worn apron and the soot on his fingers, this man was the town blacksmith. “We do not take other people’s food.”

The child, Vael, seemed to droop, expression morphing into a pout, but they ran back to the man and lifted thin arms, the man picking them up like they weighed no more than a sack of potatoes. “Apologies, stranger,” the man said, offering a hand for Caspar to shake, and Caspar looked up into warm brown eyes that seemed to glow like embers in the light. “The name’s James. I’m the blacksmith of this town, and this is my little one, Vael.” The child in question looked over at Caspar, and then gave a little wave and buried their face in their father’s chest. 

Caspar nodding, shaking his hand. “It’s alright; no harm done. My name’s Caspar.”

James sighed. “Well met, Caspar. I appreciate the sentiment, but we’re proud people of Galatea, and we don’t need to resort to begging to get by. At least… I pray to the Goddess that we won’t.”

Caspar frowned. “Galatea has been one of the territories hit the hardest by this war, hasn’t it?”

James paused, then set down Vael and shooed them away. “Go back to the shop. Your sister is waiting.” Vael nodded, and scurried off into some alley, vanishing from sight. Once they were gone, James turned to Caspar again. “Yeah. Galatea’s always been one of the poorer territories of the kingdom. Our croplands are tough to sustain, and even more than that, groups of bandits have been poppin’ up, one after another, and I’m the only one in town capable with a weapon. All our other able-bodied men and women have been conscripted; I was exempt thanks to being a single parent.” As he had been speaking, James clenched his fist, driving it into a nearby wall. “I can’t stand it! How am I supposed to protect my family with things as they are?!”

Caspar blinked. “Bandits, you say? Heh, in that case, let me help you out! I may not look it, but I’m a mercenary, and I know my way around a battlefield. If you need it, I can back you up.”

James stared at Caspar wide-eyed, then broke into a grin. “Hah! Wonderful! Between the two of us, I’m sure we could get rid of at least _some_ of the bandits plaguing us. Although, I’m afraid I ain’t got much to pay you…”

Caspar held up a hand. “No need! If it’s alright with you, I’ll just take some food from the bandits, and if you don’t mind sharpening my weapons, we’ll call it even.”

James smiled broadly, and reached over to clap Caspar on the back. “It’s a deal! We’ll get to work tonight, boyo.”

A few hours passed as the sun began to dip and then sink beyond the horizon line, and after James had upheld his end of the bargain of sharpening Caspar’s axe and gauntlets, as well as retrieving his own axe, the two set out into the twilight. Unfortunately for Caspar, “getting to work” meant hurrying up and waiting for the bandits to come to them. James had led Caspar to a semi-hidden trench built near the town outskirts, and now the two were watching and waiting for bandit activity, laying on their stomachs as they scouted the treeline. Caspar’s stomach growled; the fresh bread they’d been given before they’d left had been shared between them and eaten in its entirety, and now, it was just a waiting game. In the quiet, Caspar let his thoughts drift, thinking back to the bandits of his school days, so long ago. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caspar was at the training grounds, practicing his brawling, when a loud clatter took him by surprise. “Who’s there!” he called, whirling around, only to see Ashe on the ground, near some knocked-over lances. 

“Ow ow ow…” the other student moaned, rubbing at his back.

“Oh, Ashe!” Caspar yelped, rushing over. He removed the gauntlets, extending a hand to the other. “You alright?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Ashe sighed, taking the hand as Caspar pulled him up. “Sorry for interrupting you.”

“Nah, it’s cool. Why didn’t you say something? I didn’t even know you were here.”

“Well…” Ashe started, before giving a small sigh and looking away, not meeting Caspar’s gaze. “I thought you were still angry with me over the whole pantry bandit thing.”

Caspar blinked. “Mad? No way! I mean, sure, I was a little heated about it then, but I’m not the kinda guy to hold onto stuff like that, you know? Besides, we’re pals! And that’s what’s really important.”

Ashe stared at him, considering this. “I see… well, uh, in that case, want to go grab some lunch?” 

Caspar broke into a big grin, pumping his fist in the air. “Do I!”

Once they had cleaned up the lances, the two headed for the dining hall, filling up their plates and finding an empty table. Once they sat down, Caspar began to dig in, but Ashe pushed his food around with his fork a bit, contemplating something. Eventually, once Caspar was almost half done, Ashe asked a question that had been on his mind for a while now. “Say, Caspar, why do you fight the way you do?”

Caspar looked up from his plate, mouth stuffed full. “Hm?” He quickly swallowed in one big gulp, and Ashe blinked in amazement, but said nothing. “What do you mean, Ashe?”

“Well, why is your first instinct to kill your enemy outright instead of trying to understand him? Or is it that your enemy, because he’s your enemy, opposes good and therefore deserves death? Is that your ideal justice?”

Caspar narrowed his eyes, but seeing that Ashe meant no offense but was genuinely asking, he sighed and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I’m not the best at the whole… planning thing, I guess. I never have been. If I sat around and planned and waited to try and capture every criminal I came across, they could not just get away, but do even worse things to more people! If you wait, the problem gets bigger, and more people could get hurt; that’s not just at all!”

Ashe sighed. “But… what if the people you were fighting had a reason for why they had to turn to crime, sometimes because of circumstances out of their control? Would you listen to them? Is it justice to send a man to his death because he saw no other way to help the people he cared about?”

Caspar tilted his head. “If he hurt others, he’s a criminal!”

Ashe slammed his hands on the table. “But what if he never asked or wanted to be one?!”

Reacting to Ashe’s anger, Caspar was about to retort in kind when something inside made him pause. He felt his rage dissipate, concern replacing it. “Ashe… do you know someone like that?”

Ashe paused, then looked down at his lap, his shoulders hunched. He looked like all the fight had suddenly gone out of him. “You could say that.” 

Caspar looked at him, really _looked,_ and in that moment, in his gut, he understood that Ashe knew better than most how some people were forced into lives of crime. Perhaps… the least he could do now was listen.

“Hey, Ashe…” Caspar said hesitantly, and Ashe looked up, his sharp green gaze looking slightly blurry. “Could you… maybe tell me about that person? I have my own way of doing things, and I can’t promise I’ll agree with you, but you’re my friend, so… I wanna learn more about your kind of justice.”

Ashe blinked, then broke into a small, grateful smile. “Well… alright. Grab us some sweet buns, and I’ll tell you the story.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caspar was forcibly shaken from the memory by James’s gloved hand on his shoulder, rattling him back to his senses, and he shook his head, coming back to the present. “Wha-what?” he asked, and James lifted a finger to his lips.

“Shhhh! They’re almost here!” James jabbed a finger at the treeline, and Caspar could vaguely make out flittering shapes between the gaps in the trees. Right. It was time to put these memories aside and do what he was here to do. 

He tugged on his gauntlet, looked to James for the signal, and once the other nodded, the two sprang from their hiding place and began to fight. 10 bandits attacked them, but between Caspar and James, the two held their own, beating their opponents back. Within a few short minutes that seemed to last a lifetime, James had four dead bandits at his feet, and the six around Caspar were unconscious, his heavy blows proving more than effective. 

James plodded over, whistling. “Not bad!” 

Caspar grinned back. “Yeah! Now, let’s take back what they stole and bring ‘em back to the village. We can figure out why they did this from there.”

James gave Caspar a confused look at the suggestion, and even Caspar himself blinked, surprised at the words. “What? No. Just finish ‘em off here.”

Caspar stared at him blankly. “Uh, what?”

“You heard me. The only good bandit is a dead one.”

“Unghhhhh…” As they were talking, one of the bandits came around, moaning as her eyes fluttered open. Once she took stock of the situation, however, she screamed, trying to back away from the two but failing. “Ah! Please, have mercy! My children are starving! I had no choice; there’s no food anywhere and my little ones are desperate! Please, I beg of you, ha--”

Her plea was interrupted by James’s axe as he finished her off, her limp body crashing to the snow. He then walked to the other unconscious bandits, finishing them off as Caspar watched in horror, frozen as his head and his heart pulled at each other. “James! Why! What are you--”

“I TOLD YOU!” the other man shouted. “The only good bandit is a dead one! I don’t care what their reasons are, or how desperate they are! So what if she’s got kids! I do too! Why should she get special treatment! I don’t care if this is her last resort or if her kids are gonna starve; she brought this upon herself.” He hefted his bloody axe onto his shoulder, the blade dripping crimson onto the snow. “If she wants to blame anyone, she can blame that blasted Edelgard for starting this war in the first place.” Caspar could only stare at James’s retreating back as he walked off, back to the village. “You can stay the night, boy,” he called, “and for your help, I won’t mention how much of a _coward_ you are.” He turned back to lock eyes with Caspar, and far from the warm embers of earlier, James’s eyes were steely, more akin to the blades he forged. “I think you oughtta leave in the mornin’ though.”

Caspar simply locked gazes with the man and nodded. He had wondered why Ashe’s words had come back to haunt him so strongly, but now, more than ever, he was glad for it. If James was an example of how far his own thinking could go, well. Maybe he ought to give Ashe’s opinion more thought. He started dragging the bodies to the trench, piling them in along with their things, and filled in the hole, saying a quick prayer for them. Sleep wouldn’t come easy that night, but this was a lesson he would never forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to follow my writing [twitter!](https://twitter.com/Saringold_)


	3. Armor (Petra)

Caspar consulted his new map once again, giving a satisfied hum as he pressed forward. He had been walking for ages, it felt like, and from his reckoning, he was almost at the border to the Alliance. The air itself already felt like it was getting warmer and more welcoming, and he counted himself lucky to have run into that _very_ knowledgeable merchant, who in exchange for protection until the next town and for Caspar to hunt for their meals, had handed him a far less sweat-stained map and the advice to go south and follow the river flowing between Charon and Galatea in order to enter the Alliance, passing through Daphnel and avoiding Ailell entirely. In the wandering warrior’s eyes, that was a bargain.

Their meeting had been a week ago, and once they had finally gotten to town last night, Caspar and the merchant had said their goodbyes, with Caspar setting out at dawn’s light. He had taken the most direct route to the river, which had turned out to be a surprisingly easy-to-find landmark. There had even been a helpful signpost (and given that he had never been the best with directions from authority figures or from maps, the pointer was a huge relief) and he opted to meander down the riverbank for the rest of the day, sticking closely to the rushing rapids. At this point, the sun was just starting to sink below the horizon line, and if he could just find a good inn, it was looking like he could make it to the Alliance by tomorrow. 

Rolling up his map and looking around, he saw a small tendril of smoke wafting up from the woods nearby. Curiosity took hold of him, and he started to head toward it, figuring that the river would be easy enough to find tomorrow. He picked his way through the trees, the branches scratching at his face and traveling clothes as he jogged forward, keeping his eyes on the rising plume. Finally, after several more minutes, he came across a solidly-built log cabin in the woods, the smoke dancing in the air above a worn stone chimney. Well, someone was certainly home. Caspar walked forward, approaching the front door, and gave it a few solid knocks with his fist. Placing an ear to the door, he could vaguely hear footsteps, and as they got closer, he hurriedly backed up.

Moments later, the door creaked open slightly, and an older man with gnarled fingers gripped the door, eying Caspar with a suspicious glare. “What do _you_ want?”

Caspar took a breath, bringing a hand up in an awkward wave. “Sorry, but would you mind letting me stay the night? I’m heading to the Alliance tomorrow, and it’s too dangerous to go any further with the sun setting. I can trade you some gold--”

“Don’t want it!”

“Uh, food?”

“Don’t need it!”

“Erm… I can chop wood, get you water, do chores…”

“Don’t recall asking for it! If you’ve got nothing else, then leave!”

“PLEASE!” Caspar mentally winced at the pleading tone (and loud volume) of his voice, but as it caused the man to halt (and rub at his head), he pressed on. “I’m sorry that I don’t have anything else to offer you, but maybe… some stories?”

The man, who had looked like he was about to close the door in Caspar’s face any second, seemed to pause for a moment, looking away, before meeting Caspar’s eyes once again with a kinder, lighter gaze.

“...Fine. Come in. We’ll have dinner, and then you’ll tell me some stories. If I don’t like them, you leave!”

Caspar gulped, but nodded. Yeah! He could do that. He knew how to tell a story with the best of them, according to the various drunkards who frequented the bars in the towns he’d traversed; he could impress one old guy for an evening. “Fine with me! And by the way, my name’s Caspar!” He didn’t receive a reply, but considering what he’d seen of this guy so far, he hadn’t really expected one. Squaring his shoulders, he strode inside, ready to take on the challenge. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caspar set his axe down by the doorframe as the old man closed the door behind him, taking off his pack and setting it to the side. He plopped down to unlace his muddy boots, shucking them off and setting them by the axe. He sighed in relief, wiggling his socked toes, but seeing his host’s disgruntled wince, he laughed, embarrassed; those boots of his had certainly looked (and smelled) better. Still… the man himself didn’t really have room to talk. The area wasn’t that clean; a small pile of dust had gathered in the corner, and Caspar wrinkled his nose at it as he pushed himself to his feet. 

As he walked into the main area, the scrumptious scent of a hearty stew reached his nose, the heady aroma of herbs and spices and meats swirling together and causing his stomach to growl. The old guy was standing by a large black cauldron perched over a burning hearth, stirring whatever was inside with his right hand as his left arm dangled loosely by his side. Now that he had a better look at him, Caspar could guess that this man was in his 70s, his gray hair, bald patches, and scraggly beard a pretty good giveaway. Caspar started looking around the one-room cabin, taking in the neatly made (although somewhat dusty) bed, large closet, and a shelf filled with toys and books, the entire furnishing covered in a blanket of dust. Thin wooden stairs led to a loft, and although Caspar squinted, he couldn’t quite make out what was up there. The room as a whole seemed rather unkempt, mysterious and dubious stains splashed on the hearth stones, and there were cobwebs here and there, obvious signs that this man couldn’t maintain this place by himself. However, what drew his eye the most was the polished, gleaming bronze armor proudly displayed on one wall. The flickering lamp light reflected off the armor in eye-catching bursts, and Caspar suddenly longed to touch it, learn about it--

“OY!” the man shouted, and Caspar yelped, stumbling back a few steps. He whipped his head around, staring at his host, who hadn’t even turned away from the pot. He vigorously pointed to a roughly hewn dining table in the corner, already set for two, with some worn wooden chairs surrounding it. “Sit over there, and don’t touch anything!”

“Yessir!” Caspar said, still somewhat startled, and settled himself at the table, but after a few moments, his eyes were drawn once again to the shining armor. He lapsed into silence as though hypnotized, the lights reflecting off of it seeming to draw forth a memory from the back of his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Caspar!” Petra called, her voice echoing down the hallway as she entered the training grounds. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, hey Petra,” Caspar breezily replied from his place on the floor, holding up a container of armor polish in one hand and a rag in the other. “I’m fixing up this spare helmet before I go sell it. It’s pretty banged up, so I’m bringing it to the blacksmiths.”

Petra blinked, surprised. “The blacksmiths? And they will fix it?”

Caspar shook his head, tapping the helmet with a knuckle. “Nah, it’s too dented. Instead, they’ll melt it down and use it as raw materials for new stuff!”

Petra nodded, listening intently. “So in Fódlan, it is common to… melt down old armor to make new armor? And then that new armor is given to you?”

Caspar narrowed his eyes, thinking. “Well, not really. You sell the armor to the blacksmiths, and they melt it down, and make new armor or weapons or something, and sell it. Once you get rid of it or sell it, that’s it.”

Petra frowned. “Oh… I see…”

Caspar tilted his head. “I’m guessing it’s not the same for you guys?”

Petra smiled, bringing a hand to her heart. “Not exactly. In my homeland, armor once worn by one’s parent is used in crafting the armor that one will wear as an adult.” Petra kneeled so that she could sit beside him, folding her legs to her chest and resting her arms on her knees. 

“Among my people, when children come of age, they are allowed to choose their own… ah... future. They could want to learn the ways of healers, or become mighty warriors or hunters. Those who are choosing the second will one day gain their own armor.”

“Wow…” Caspar breathed. “Really?”

“Yes,” Petra continued. “For myself, once I have lived 18 years, I too will be given my armor. Although, perhaps given is the incorrect word…”

Caspar set his polish and cloth down on the floor, giving Petra his full attention. After a moment of seemingly searching for the words, she began to speak once more. “Our armor… is a gift. We must, at the very least, retrieve the materials needed to make it. Part of it comes from the hides of the beasts we hunt, while another part must be woven or dyed from plants and herbs that are found in nature, the bountiful gifts of the spirits. Then, pieces of your parent’s armor are added to yours, as a symbol of love from who came before you.”

“And if the armor can’t be used anymore? What then?” Caspar asked as he shifted around to get more comfortable on the stone floor, eyes practically gleaming as he listened. 

“Then it is buried as one would bury a person, for that is the best way to honor all of the blessings and burdens that it has carried,” Petra replied, a chuckle escaping her at Caspar’s eager attention. 

“Huh!” he exclaimed. “That’s really cool! I dunno if my armor can be counted as a gift, but my dad bought this helmet for me. He didn’t make it himself or anything, but I guess he did want me to be safe wearing it.”

Petra placed a hand on his arm. “All armor, I have been told, carries a… er… a wish. Yes. Whether it is from the person who first made it or asked for it, as it is with your armor, or from all who came before, as it is with mine, armor is a gift that is… ah… filled with a wish for the wearer to be safe.”

“Wow,” Caspar repeated. “I never thought of it that way.”

Petra smiled, seemingly satisfied at being able to share such a dear part of her culture. “That is why those who take care of their armor are strong; they know of all that makes it what it is. If someone gives you armor, that is how they are praying for your success.” Petra then reached over, and took the worn helmet from where it was resting beside Caspar. “Thank you for your service,” she whispered. “May you protect your wearer just as well in your next life.”

Caspar watched as she stared at the helmet fondly, a smile on her lips, and he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of emotion in his heart. If Petra was right, then he really ought to be taking care of his armor more. Who knew how many hands all of that metal had passed through before it became his armor? And for the blacksmiths who made it, who bet their way of life on making good armor that would protect people, it _was_ kinda mean to just toss it out like garbage when it was too worn out to use anymore. 

Caspar nodded to himself, his mind made up. Starting today, he was going to take better care of his armor, armor that worked so hard to protect him! ...After he sold that helmet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caspar was pulled back from his thoughts by a bowl of soup being placed roughly in front of him, a spoon clattering against the rim of the chipped bowl. They ate in silence, Caspar stopping his slurping to compliment his host for the food and receiving a grunt in return, but Caspar noticed that the old man had chosen the seat where he could most easily see the armor, and as they ate, his host’s eyes would drift to it, like twin moths to the reflected flames. Dimly, Caspar realized that at some point, the evening had well and truly turned to night; time flew when you were thinking, he guessed.

Once they had both finished and set their bowls down, the man jabbed a thin finger at Caspar. “Alright, boy. Time for your end of the deal. Tell me stories, and they’d better be good ones. Otherwise, you’re out!” he cried, curling his fingers and jabbing his thumb behind him in the direction of the door. 

Caspar nodded. Right. He was here on a mission. Still... first, he had to feed his curiosity. “You got it! I’ll tell you some real good stories! But first…” Caspar turned his head to look at the armor, and the man followed his gaze, the two staring at the polished mail. “Could you tell me about who wore that?”

“Wha-WHAT?!” the old man practically shouted, throwing both arms in the air dramatically as he swiveled his head to glare at Caspar. “Why should I tell you anything?! YOU’RE the one who agreed to tell me tales!”

Caspar’s hand went up to scratch the back of his head, the other coming to rest on his hip as he frantically tried to think of a way to calm him down, as he continued looking at the well-maintained mail. “And I will! Just… I remembered a good friend of mine telling me about the importance of armor. She said that all armor carries a wish, and that whether it’s from the maker or the person who asked for it to be made, armor is proof that someone wants the wearer to be safe.”

As Caspar took a breath, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that the old man had brought down his arms, folding them in his lap as he looked back at the armor, and Caspar gulped, pressing on, feeling like somehow, he was getting through. “If you’re taking care of this armor like this… and you haven’t sold it already… then unless it’s yours, the person or people who wore it must mean a lot to you.”

“...” The man sat in quiet contemplation, and Caspar began tapping his fingers against his knees in worry. That crawling feeling in his skin of needing to move, needing to _leave,_ was beginning to intensify. There was no way he was going to be asked to stay now. He started to stand, the chair scraping the floor as he stood, when the old man murmured “Wait.”

Caspar froze a moment, then forced his body to sit back down, pulling the chair forward again. His host sighed and brought his gaze up to meet Caspar’s.

“It… it was my grandson’s. His father and mother died when he was but a boy, so I brought him out here and raised him myself. He had always wanted to become a knight, so with the savings I had, I bought that armor for him when he was old enough to become a knight trainee. He wrote me every once in a while, usually on my birthdays or on his. I’d heard he’d even been accepted into the Knights of Seiros. Then… a year ago, a knight of Charon brought that armor to me, and…”

He fell silent, and Caspar said nothing, continuing to tap his fingers on his knees, until words found their way out of his throat. “I’m sorry for your loss…”

“Don’t.” The man held up his hand, and Caspar closed his mouth. “If anything, I feel relieved. When he died, nobody else in my family, or even the village back there, wanted anything to do with us. They all decided not to talk about it, or him; it was like they wanted to forget him and pretend it was for my sake. But you… you’ve done me a service.” 

With that, the man pushed back his chair, standing up. “I’m going to bed.” He pointed sharply at the only bed that Caspar could see, Caspar himself giving a little “ah!” of surprise. “That’s yours. Don’t bother me.” 

“Y-yeah…” Caspar replied, hardly believing this was happening. With that, the man ascended the stairs to the loft, presumably where his bed was. Caspar watched him go, thoughts swirling in his mind, before he walked back to the entryway, putting his boots back on and lacing them up. He had a lot to think about, and the best way to process it all was doing what he did any time he had to think hard thoughts: go find something to punch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caspar awoke the next morning to the sun’s dawning rays in his face, and he grumbled a bit as he fussed himself awake. Giving a solid stretch and a yawn, he rubbed at his face and began to pull on his tunic when the sarcastic sound of his host’s voice caught his attention.

“Well, aren’t you a heavy sleeper.”

Caspar turned to look at the dining table, gaping in amazement at seeing his host there, eating some hot porridge out of a bowl. The old man turned to him, an eyebrow raised. “What are you waiting for? Get some before it gets cold!”

“Uh, sure? I mean, sure! Thanks!” Caspar hurriedly finished pulling on his tunic, walking over to the cauldron and spooning some porridge into the bowl placed nearby. He brought it back over to the table, digging into it with gusto. As he ate, the old man suddenly sighed. 

“Listen up. My grandson, Nilvrew, would be about your age if he were still alive today. Hell, you even remind me of him, what with being the worst storyteller ever. Wouldn’t even share one when I asked, just kept askin’ me for something!”

“Hey!” Caspar said, or would have said if his mouth wasn’t filled with porridge. He settled for glaring instead. His host ignored him.

“But… he always did treasure this armor. Said it made him feel strong ‘cause it came from me. And I have a feeling in my gut that he wouldn’t like seeing his armor just sitting around, gathering dust when some other dumb kid who's just like he was could use it. So, I’ve decided.” 

The old man walked over to where the armor was hung, bringing over one of the dining chairs, and lifted it from the wall, groaning under its weight. Caspar lunged from his chair, ready to help, but his host waved him back. “Here, Caspar. Take this with you. For someone like you who understands the wishes that armor carries… take this, and know that those before you are with you.”

Caspar stared at the armor, then at the old man. “I… I can’t… it’s yours…” 

“It _was_ my grandson’s,” his host corrected. “And now, it’s yours. It’s not doing me any good, and I’d rather see it go to someone who’ll take care of it. That someone’s you, boy, so you’d better not say no. Even if you did eat my food and sleep in my spare bed without giving me much of anything in return.”

Caspar huffed a laugh, unable to come up with a comeback. He began to put it on, the old man helping him in places, and by removing a few extra pieces, Caspar had himself a strong breastplate and shoulder pads, alone with some plates for his knees. It wasn’t necessarily a complete suit of armor, but somehow, it was one that suited him. Caspar clenched his fists, looking down at himself. He’d have to get proper metal gauntlets and boots to match, and the weight would take some getting used to, but… he felt safer than he had in a long time. A warmth filled his chest, and he laughed, flexing his arm proudly. “Well? How do I look?”

Caspar’s host… no, benefactor laughed, the kind of laugh he hadn’t laughed in a long, long time. “It’s like it was made for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to follow my writing [twitter!](https://twitter.com/Saringold_)


	4. Celebration (Dorothea)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY CASPAR!!!!
> 
> ...it's a little unfortunate that this is a wartime fic, because that makes his birthday kinda bittersweet. Ah well. 
> 
> CW: Minor Character Death, mentions of burials, talk about death/mourning

Caspar ducked out of the way of an oncoming axe attack, the razor-sharp blade slicing through the chill evening air and almost cutting his hair for him. He brought up his gauntlets, shielding his face as he punched up, going for the temples and unleashing a quick jab. His opponent fell limp, the bandit’s bruised body slumping to the ground. In his peripheral vision, he saw a flash of light from the nearby trees, but didn’t have time to think as another bandit tried coming up from behind, raising their axe with every intention of splitting him in two, but the blade glanced off Caspar’s armor, causing them to recoil and giving Caspar enough time to counterattack. A third stayed where he was, waiting it out, and unfortunately for him, that split second gave Caspar the opening he needed to attack the man’s weak point, pulling off a great spinning punch that sent the fool flying through the air and crashing into a tree. It had only been a few minutes, but the three bandits were subdued. “YEAH!” Caspar shouted, giving a quick stretch and rolling his head and shoulders to loosen up his muscles. “Right makes… no, might… wait. Might makes right. Yeah, that’s right.”

He took some rope from his pack and walked over the bandits, thinking he would tie them to a tree or something, when suddenly, another brigand leapt from a nearby bush, the sword raised threateningly above her head flashing in the moonlight. “Take this, ya bastAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” she screamed, a fireball suddenly engulfing her out of seemingly nowhere. 

“Yeow!” Caspar screeched, looking over his shoulder in exasperation. “Rolti! Could you not?!”

A sparkling laugh echoed from the shadowed woods behind him, and a lithe form flitted out of the darkened treeline to meet up with Caspar, as graceful as he was deadly. “Oh, PLEASE! You can keep up; that’s why I hired you!” Rolti said brightly, making an exaggerated bow that ruffled his dancer’s uniform, and Caspar sighed, knowing it was true. 

As soon as he’d entered the Alliance, Caspar had made his way to the nearest town, searching for a way to make some money. He’d run into a colorful troupe of performers in the town square, and couldn’t help but be captivated by their show. Rolti, their leader, was a dancer by trade, his short blonde hair sculpted in a swish and deep purple eyes a perfect match and inspiration for his lilac and white uniform. He was drawing the crowd’s attention to each of the four other performers, which included a pair of twins who were great acrobats, an illusionist who could pull off eye-catching feats even without the help of magic, and an archer who could fire “magic arrows” that used some kind of fire magic to explode into beautiful arrays of light. In the back, close to where their wagon and horses were parked, Caspar could see two other people bustling around, and from their clothes they were likely a healer and a chef. Once the show had concluded, Caspar was about to drop them a coin (and if he was lucky, ask about some of their techniques) when he was stopped by Rolti, who had introduced himself and asked if he would be willing to escort them deeper into Alliance lands. Naturally, Caspar had agreed, and five days later, here they were. 

“You sure were a good investment, my friend,” Rolti laughed, coming up beside him and clapping his shoulder as the rest of the caravan slowly made its way out of the trees. Once they were back on the road, a few other members of the troupe began relighting torches and lamps that they had put out to conceal themselves from the bandits. 

Rolti surveyed the area, a thoughtful look on his face, before clapping his hands, drawing everyone’s attention. “Listen up, everyone! We’re going to travel a little ways further, then make camp. Yes, it’s a bit early, but… we have some business to take care of.” At the announcement, the mood grew somber, and Caspar hung his head. Last night, they had lost one of their own; tonight, they were going to take the time to mourn him. 

They had made camp late last night, when they were ambushed by a pair of demonic beasts. Caspar, Rolti, and the others had fought them off, and had thought they had made it through unscathed when a sharp “NOOO!” came from the woods, and Rolti and Caspar had looked up, running over to the source of the noise as Rolti barked orders for the rest to hide in the wagon. Quickly, they’d come across Merinn, their resident healer, who was sobbing and kneeling, clutching at the body of Kellyn, their archer. It was clear from the pallor of his skin that he was dead, a long slash across his torso being the cause, and right nearby was the body of a dead beast, punctured through with arrows and skin showing the ethereal, searing burns that could only be caused by Faith magic.

“Kellyn! Please! Open your eyes!” Merinn had been begging, and Rolti gently gripped his arm, helping him stand. 

“He’s dead, I’m afraid,” the dancer had said softly, and after a few moments, Merinn’s tears subsided into sniffles, and he nodded.

“Yes… then, let’s get him buried.”

The other members of the caravan, once Merinn and Rolti had explained the situation, had immediately sprung into action. The twins had grabbed shovels from the back, Caspar taking one himself. Meanwhile, Merinn had obtained a book of hymns from among his things, flipping through the pages until he found the one he was looking for. Calgone the illusionist procured a white sheet to wrap him in, and Russell the chef had started talking to Rolti in hushed tones, the two carrying on privately as the others worked. 

Finally, Caspar and the twins had dug out a reasonably-sized grave, and Kellyn was wrapped in the white sheet, buried in the ground as the rest looked on. Merinn had led the proceedings with a halting voice, the funeral conducted quickly but solemnly. Once that was done, they had all tried their best to go back to sleep, but from the looks passed around in the morning as they resumed their journey, nobody had slept a wink after that.

Caspar was jolted from his thoughts by Rolti calling his name, waving a hand from where he sat at the head of the wagon. “Hey now! Don’t lose us just yet. Come on, Caspar! We’re setting out!”

“Oh, yeah. Coming!” he called, sparing a quick glance at the bloodied ground around them before jogging up to keep pace with the wagon.

A short while later, they found a clearing that Rolti determined to be suitable, and the twins unhooked the wagon from the horses, patting them down as Caspar and the others began setting up camp. Merinn and Calgone got a roaring fire going as Russell put their dinner on and got out some alcohol, passing out mugs to the troupe. Once everyone’s flagons were filled, and the smell of delicious beef stew began wafting throughout the area, Rolti called for everyone’s attention. 

“Since we didn’t get a chance to do it last night,” he began, “this night, we’re going to have… a celebration.”

Caspar’s eyes widened. “A celebration?!” he asked incredulously, and only realized he had said it aloud when everyone else turned to give him looks, some of annoyance at his interruption, others of understanding. Rolti merely nodded.

“Yes. Tonight, we will celebrate the life and mourn the death of our friend and comrade, Kellyn Harnovir.”

“Hear hear!” the others called, turning back to their leader and raising their glasses, and after a quick glance around, Caspar followed suit.

“Kellyn,” Rolti continued, “was a good man. He was honest, brave, and true, and he was part of our small, storm-tossed family. He always said that he was doing what he was meant to do, and that was bring people joy. Even more so in times like these.” 

Rolti took a deep breath, and Caspar found that he couldn’t look away from the man; his presence seemed to envelop the group, drawing them in. They were his captive audience. 

“Kellyn joined us 5 years ago, in the Empire. He was down on his luck, an archer at heart but unable to make ends meet. We offered him a contract, and he gambled that we would be able to make his dream come true. In the end, I can only pray to the Goddess that we succeeded.”

Rolti closed his eyes, taking another breath, and Caspar could only listen in amazement as Rolti began to sing, his high, clear voice echoing throughout the clearing. The words and notes intermingled and drifted high into the night, and as Caspar closed his eyes, a memory from days long gone by came forth, as if summoned by the music itself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was past midnight at Garreg Mach, and Caspar was rubbing his eyes as he walked the quiet halls of the monastery, weary after coming back from a skirmish with pirates earlier that day but also too keyed up to sleep. He was passing by the cathedral, trying to calm himself down with a little pre-sleep exercise, when he heard beautiful singing echoing through the air, the firm soprano causing him to stop in his tracks. He turned, trying to place where it was coming from, and he followed his ears to the source of the sound, stepping lightly until he reached the outdoor balcony to the left of the cathedral proper. There, he saw Dorothea singing under the moonlight, the heartfelt notes crystal clear in the quiet. He walked a little closer, stepping forward to try and get a better look, when she suddenly turned toward him, a seething glare replacing her previously serene expression. “Who’s there?!” she called menacingly, preparing a fire spell. 

“Whoa whoa whoa! It’s just me, Dorothea!” Caspar called, running out from where he'd been standing so she could have a clearer view. 

“Little bro?” Dorothea asked, eyes widening, as she dismissed her fireball. “What are you doing out here?” 

“Not much,” he answered, bringing his hands up to rest behind his head. “I couldn’t sleep, so I started walking around, and I heard singing so I came to check it out.”

“Oh… well, now you have,” Dorothea chuckled awkwardly.

“Yeah, I guess,” Caspar retorted, “but why were you singing out here anyway?”

The songstress sighed, looking out at the landscape before her. “I’ve been practicing for tomorrow. Some good men died in the skirmish today, and Manuela and I have been asked to sing at their funerals.”

Caspar walked to the railing and leaned his back against it, trying his best to listen closely. He was getting the sense that Dorothea needed that most right now. She turned to look at him, the small smile on her face contrasting her sad eyes. “I know it’s their duty, and I know it’s part of what they came here to do, but… still! I can’t help but feel bad for them. I know we all have to die eventually, but it doesn’t seem fair.”

Caspar looked at her, confused. “Well… we took out the bastards who killed them. So that’s good, right?”

Dorothea gripped the railing, taking a breath and looking up at the moon this time. “I suppose, but I can’t say that it really makes me feel better about the whole thing. If anything, now we just have more dead people.”

Caspar furrowed his brow, puzzling it out in his head. “Yeah, I guess I can see what you mean. I was glad we got rid of the bad guys, but once we stopped fighting, I just...” He shrugged, not really finding the right words for his feelings. Instead, he turned to the railing again. “In that case, what would make you feel better?”

Dorothea sighed. “Well, I was trying to feel better through my singing. Do you know what Manuela told me? She said that prayers and hymns and rituals for the dead are really more for the living. Once you’re dead, that’s it. You’re gone. But for the people who remember them, prayer and song and celebrating their lives is a comfort, our way of giving ourselves hope and strength to carry on.”

Caspar blinked, processing the words. “Wow… she’s pretty wise, huh?”

Dorothea chuckled, seeming to lighten up at the thought of her mentor. “She really is. She’s seen a lot, more than you know. Come to think of it, she also said that in times like this, we should find something to celebrate, whether it’s their lives or the lives of the people they saved or the fact that we’re still here. Even with the bad, there’s still good in the world, and to make sure we don’t get overwhelmed, it’s good to make the effort to find it.”

Caspar nodded as he listened, then pushed himself away from the railing, placing a hand on his hip and pumping a fist in the air. “Yeah! You’re totally right, Dorothea! They may be dead, but they were good people! So let’s celebrate that they… did good, I guess?”

Dorothea stared at him, then started to laugh, tears coming to her eyes. Caspar brought his fist down, frowning. “What? What’s so funny?” 

Dorothea shook her head, a more gentle, genuine smile on her face. “Nothing. You’re right. And I think you should be there tomorrow, singing with us. Just to make sure your thoughts reach them, you know?” she asked, winking at him. 

Caspar grinned, punching up at the air. “Heck yeah! I’ll do it!” The two turned back to the moonlit mountains surrounding them, lost in their own thoughts. Caspar hadn’t given much thought to death before now, seeing it as just kinda being something that happened when it happened and if you needed to get revenge, you should, but in thinking about it, finding something to celebrate, seeing the good with the bad, sounded like a pretty good idea too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Now… is there anything else we’d like to celebrate, along with Kellyn’s life?” Rolti asked, and Caspar blinked, coming out of his thoughts and shaking his head. Hesitantly, Caspar looked around, and seeing that nobody else was forthcoming, raised his hand. Rolti’s eyes locked onto him. “Yes?”

“Um…” Caspar started, pausing at the weight of the others’ eyes on him before swallowing and finishing his thought. “You’re asking about something to celebrate, right? Today’s my birthday. I’m 20 today.”

The circle was silent for a moment, and suddenly, everyone erupted with cheers. “Oh, Caspar! Happy birthday!” “20 years old, hm? I have a cousin that age!” “Oh, so young and already so good in battle!” 

The compliments kept coming, Caspar scratching his head in embarrassment until Rolti clapped his hands again, reorienting everyone’s eyes on him. “Perfect! As everyone has already said, happy birthday, Caspar. Now, we can start celebrating; while there is death, there is also life. While there is sadness, there is joy. While there is war, there will one day be peace. All things are balanced this way, and to forget that will only bring you unhappiness.”

Caspar nodded, then suddenly stood as a thought occurred to him. “I… I also wanted to just say that I’m sorry. You hired me to protect you, and yet, I--”

“No, Caspar,” Merinn interrupted gently. “You were protecting us as best you could. There was nothing you could have done; you are only one person. Instead, I’d rather thank you for making sure that more of us weren’t hurt.”

“Hear hear,” Rolti said, raising his glass again, meeting Caspar’s eyes. There really were no hard feelings there, Caspar marveled, and with an abrupt nod and unshed tears in his throat, he sat back down. 

“Now,” Rolti continued, “we have memories of a life and a milestone of life to dance to tonight! Let’s get the music playing; we can’t be too festive, but we can enjoy this time while we have it! Let us DANCE!”

At his cue, the other troupe members took up their instruments, and began to play jovial, upbeat songs that had the entire crew laughing and dancing, even singing along. Caspar danced until his feet could dance no more, finally feeling like he understood what Dorothea meant all those years ago: in life, there was death, and in death, life again; in war like this, there could even be moments of peace. For who he was now, and for all that he’d learned from the living and the dead, and for even reaching this point, Caspar danced, and drank, and celebrated, truly happy to be alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to follow my writing [twitter!](https://twitter.com/Saringold_)


	5. Training (Hilda)

Caspar squinted at his map, scratching his head as he sighed in defeat. As far as he knew, he had been moving east, and was supposedly near Riegan territory. According to the travelers he’d met a few days back, if he kept heading this way, he should have reached the mid-sized town of Rilchiin, where he could find a warm bed, a hot meal, and most importantly, some work. However, looking around, he could see nothing but the edge of the treeline easing out into rolling hills and emerald green grass swaying lightly in the midday breeze, puffy white clouds lazily letting the winds push them along. All in all, it was a lovely view, but Caspar was far less interested in that than in arriving at the town he was supposed to have found yesterday. 

Closing his eyes, he sighed and tried to focus on the feeling in his gut. He trusted his instinct completely, and whenever he was faced with an impossible choice, he turned his focus inward, asking the voice inside which way to go. After a moment of contemplation, he had the urge to turn right and keep walking, so he did just that, letting his feet take him where they would. He set off across the hills, following a decently well-trodden dirt path. The sun, as restless as he, refused to rest as it traversed the endless blue sky, and before he knew it, midday had given way to late afternoon, and just as he was starting to worry that he had chosen wrong, he crested the hill he was climbing and saw a lone stone farmhouse a little ways away, where a thin boy who looked to be about 10 years old was wildly swinging an axe in the yard and shouting chants of “HYAH!” and “HOOWAH!” that could be heard from where Caspar stood. The blue-haired brawler grinned. Perfect! Surely someone living there could give him directions. He set off down the hill, keeping his eyes fixed on his destination. 

After a few more minutes of walking, the boy quickly looked up, no doubt hearing the clanking of his armor. Caspar had come to learn that while having a truly well made set of armor was wonderful, there were some downsides; it had taken him quite a while to get used to wearing it, much less fighting in it, and he’d almost lost it completely when he’d accidentally slipped trying to cross a river. It also did not make him terribly stealthy or subtle. However, Caspar was fine with accepting all of these trade offs, given that he had never been a stealthy or subtle person in the first place, but as the boy’s eyes widened in fear and he gripped the handle of his axe tighter, Caspar wondered for the first time if perhaps he looked a little too intimidating, what with the armor and giant axe on his back and all. Still, too late now. 

Caspar gave the boy a little wave, kneeling a bit and staying a safe distance away. This often worked with animals, and really, kids couldn’t be much different. “Hey there!” he called. “I need some help with directions. Can you or your mom or dad help me?”

The boy looked at him warily, thrusting the axe at him in a stabbing motion. “You… you better leave, stranger! We ain’t got nothin’ you want! My momma and daddy aren’t here, but I’ll make sure you--”

“That’s enough, Theo!” came a sharp voice from the doorway, and Caspar stood up and looked over to see a brunette in a patchwork wool dress and an apron rush out of the house and stomp over to the boy. 

“Sis, I can explain--,” the kid started, only to be cut off as the woman grabbed him, holding him close. 

“I don’t know what you’re here for, stranger,” the newcomer said in an even, firm tone, “but whatever you want, we ain’t got.” 

Caspar flinched and held his hands up in front of him, hoping to put her less on edge. “I really just need directions. Do you know where the town of Rilchiin is?” 

The woman and boy blinked, sharing a look. “Uh, mister?” the boy began. “Rilchiin is waaaaaaaaaaay that way,” he said, pointing back the way Caspar had come. Caspar felt his heart drop into his stomach.

“Uh… waaaaay that way?” he asked hesitantly, miming distance with his hands. The sister shook her head.

“More like waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay that way,” she replied, mimicking the motion but making it much more expansive. Caspar sighed, casting his eyes to the ground; the very thought of having to make such a long trek before nightfall sapped his motivation, and from the sound of it, he’d have to go hunting while there was still light left. As he was thinking through his plan (and definitely not pouting about it), the woman rolled her eyes. “Alright, you don’t seem a bad sort. If you hunt us up some dinner with that big ol’ axe on your back, I’ll cook for you, and you can spend the night in the spare bedroom,” she said, and Caspar gave her a grateful look.

“Aw, thanks so much! I promise I won’t snore too loudly!” The woman blinked at him, then gave a little laugh and a smile. 

“Heh, and he’s considerate to boot. I’m Fran. This here’s Theo, my little bro,” she said, tousling his hair affectionately as he whined at her in embarrassment. “What are you called?”

“Ah, my name’s Caspar!” he said, bringing a hand to his chest. “I’m a mercenary, just travelling here and there for now.”

“A mercenary?” Fran inquired, a look of surprise crossing her face. “Wow, looks like you dodged the draft, then. Well, in any case, you look capable, so bring back some dinner and I’ll get to work.” She then looked down at her brother. “Theo, I know you’ll probably want to go with him, so if he lets you, then don’t get in his way, understand?” 

Theo rolled his eyes at her. “I _know,_ Fran. I’m not a _baby._ ”

Fran just chuckled, shaking her head. “And yet you still whine like one.” She paused a moment then, and reached up to adjust the simple pink clip secured to her short pixie-cut hair, smiling once she was sure it was secure. “Alright, I’m heading in. Come back once you’ve got the goods.”

“Alright, Fran!” Theo and Caspar chorused as she walked back inside, closing the door behind her. “Sooooo…” Theo began, drawing in a big breath. “Where did you come from? Have you fought in the war yet? Do you really know how to use that axe? Can you teach me? Have you been a mercenary for a long time? Do you like it? Have you fought the Empire before? Are they--”

“Ooooookay, kid, settle down,” Caspar interrupted, a little overwhelmed by the sudden rush of questions. “One thing at a time.” 

Theo huffed, but relented. “Ok, ok.”

Caspar unstrapped the axe from his back, holding it tightly as he brought it in front of him. “I’m from… a place that’s pretty far from here. I haven’t fought in the war, but I’ve been taking out bandits and all sorts of other bad guys! And yeah, I know how to use this axe; I’m the kind of guy who mostly fights with my fists, but this thing’s not just for show!” 

“Wow!” Theo exclaimed, eyes shining as he looked at the weapon. He picked up the iron axe he’d been swinging and brought it over to the larger one, comparing them. “That’s so cool!” 

Caspar couldn’t help but laugh; the kid’s enthusiasm was infectious. “Isn’t it?” Suddenly, he noticed the sun’s waning rays reflecting off the polished metal, and he frowned. “Aw, man. I gotta get us dinner,” he noted, resecuring the blade to his back.

“Wait!” Theo said. “Let me come with you! Please! I wanna see you in action, and I promise I won’t get in your way.”

Caspar blinked, opening his mouth to argue but thinking better of it. If the kid really wanted to go, then who was he to say no? He had plenty of healing items, and he was rather confident in his ability to grab the kid and run if things got bad. “Alright, deal! Gear up, and we’ll set out!”

“Awesome!” the boy cried, jumping up and pumping his fist in the air. Caspar had half expected him to just grab his axe and say he was ready, but instead, the kid ran over to a small crate by the side of the house and grabbed an iron bow and quiver of arrows, as well as a pair of arm guards. “Alright, I’m ready!” he called, securing the guards to his forearms and checking that he had enough arrows with him.

Caspar blinked in surprise. “Not using your axe?” 

“Oh,” Theo mumbled, suddenly looking bashful. “Nah. I’m better with a bow and arrow, and sis worries I’ll ‘get up close and personal with trouble’,” he intoned, making air quotes with his fingers and poorly imitating his sister’s voice. 

Caspar nodded, vaguely impressed. Fran might have seemed stern, but she had a good head on her shoulders. “Ok! Then let’s go!”

The two headed back up the hillside, toward where Caspar had come out of the forest. Once the treeline was in view, Theo started walking behind Caspar, his bow at the ready, as Caspar stretched his fingers and hands, preparing himself. They trekked through the woods for a little while, Theo leaving small marks on the trees with an arrowhead to make sure they didn’t get lost, and soon enough, they came across a pheasant, looking perfectly plump and ripe for the picking. The two shared a look, nodding, and Caspar started to slowly walk forward, keeping his prey in sight. However, his armor betrayed him; his shoulder pad clanked into a tree trunk, alerting the bird and causing it to cry out. “Damn!” Caspar swore, starting to break into a run, but before he could even leave the trees, an arrow whizzed past him and buried itself in the bird’s wing, allowing Caspar to catch up to it and grab it by the neck. It struggled in his hold, but couldn’t escape, and Caspar grinned at his catch.

“ALRIGHT!” he yelled, turning to Theo. “Good shot!”

Theo beamed, thumbing at his nose. “Heh! You know it!” 

Thanks to Theo’s trail tracking, they made it out of the woods without further trouble, and by the time the sun had just finished sinking into the depths of the horizon, the two had returned to the farmhouse, Caspar happily delivering their dinner to Fran as Theo put his bow and arrows away. She clapped once she saw it, and waved the two inside, heading for the kitchen portion of the main room. Caspar looked around, taking it all in. The plain stone walls seemed fairly sturdy, and the main room itself looked rather clean and cozy; a wooden dining table adorned with a few flowers in a cup and a few chairs surrounding it sat in one corner, and in another was a bench with a quilt sprawled over it, a basket heaping with half-finished sewing sitting next to it. Otherwise, the main room was occupied by the kitchen, the clay oven taking up most of the space but leaving some room for a countertop, on which Fran was making their meal. She plucked it before handing it to Caspar to butcher, nodding in satisfaction at his work. She turned to the oven and chanted a few arcane words, fire leaping to her fingertips and alighting the wood. “Wow! Your sister’s a mage?” Caspar asked, impressed. 

Theo nodded, grinning widely. “She sure is! She can’t use weapons real good though, so it’s easier if I do the hunting and stuff.” The boy grinned. “Usually I have to get the rabbits that pop up in the hills, but since you were with me, we got to go to the forest!”

Caspar laughed. “Glad I ended up here, then!” 

Moments later, dinner was served, and the three ate, making small talk and Caspar telling the two about his many adventures. Theo looked enthralled, while Fran seemed content to just eat and listen, seemingly enjoying the company. Finally, they finished up, and Theo bounded from his chair, running to the front door. “Sis! I’m gonna practice with my axe some more!”

“Theo!” Fran scolded. “It’s already dark! What if you get hurt?”

“I’ll be fine!” Theo argued. “Caspar is here! He’ll make sure nothing happens!” 

Fran looked over at Caspar, and he smiled. “Sure, I’ll go watch.” 

Fran was silent a moment, then sighed. “Alright. Just don’t take all night.”

“We won’t!” Theo called, grabbing Caspar’s hand and leading him toward the door, Caspar laughing as Theo dragged him outside and closed the door behind them. 

“So, you wanna practice with your axe, huh?” Caspar asked. “Well, I guess I can--”

“Actually, that’s not really what I wanna do,” Theo interrupted, still holding on to Caspar’s hand. “Could you maybe… help me with something?” 

Caspar blinked, reflexively bringing a hand up to scratch at his head. “Well, I’m not much of a thinking kind of guy, but I can try.”

Theo nodded, leading Caspar down the road a short way to a small pond, sitting serenely among the hills, and took a seat by the bank, patting the ground next to him. Caspar awkwardly maneuvered himself to sit by him, trying to get comfortable.

“So, here’s the thing,” Theo said, looking into the lake as if he was talking to his reflection. “I wanna learn how to use an axe ‘cause my mama was the strongest warrior around, and she protected lots and lots of people around here with _her_ axe. Papa helped her with his magic, and he taught Fran how to use it, so… I just feel like I should be using an axe too, for mama. Fran’s squishy; she told me herself. That means I gotta protect her.” 

He took a breath. “But on th’other hand, bows’re just… way easier for me. They feel right. They fit good in my hands. And I feel like I hit better with them. But lotsa people in the Alliance use bows, and what if someone just… needs an axe person one day and there ain’t one ‘round? What then? An’ if they need more people for the war, they’ll probably need axe people more than they need bow people.” The boy held his head in his hands, closing his eyes. “I was thinkin’ when you came that you could help me train with an axe, ‘cause you got that big one, but now… I dunno.” Caspar listened, nodding as Theo shared his story. His first thought was _of course you should use an axe; they’re way better_ but his second thought was a memory of his school days, and before he knew it, he was immersed in the memory, seeing it in his mind’s eye like it was yesterday.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“HIYAHHH!” Hilda cried, her axeblade slicing into the training dummy like it was paper and causing a bunch of the straw inside it to fall out all over the floor of the training grounds. Caspar gaped at her, an expression of shock all over his face, and he let out a loud whoop.

“Hilda! That was awesome!” he cheered, gripping his own axe as he spied another dummy. “Ok, my turn! Let’s--” He was interrupted by Hilda’s axe clattering to the ground as she grabbed a cloth, wiping her brow. 

“Ok, that’s enough training for today!” 

Caspar threw his hands up in the air, shaking his head and resettling his hands on his hips. “Uh, Hilda? No offence, but when you invited me to train with you, I thought we would actually, you know, train. Not just slash up two dummies and leave.” 

Hilda gave a long, drawn out sigh. “Really, Caspar. There are other things I wanted to do today; I only asked you to come train because I wanted to talk to you about something, and I know you’ll always make time for training.”

Caspar sighed, bringing a hand up to his head. “I mean, you’re right, but… ah, fine. I’m not the best at this kind of thing, but if you have a problem, I’ll listen.”

“Thanks, Caspar!” Hilda exclaimed brightly. “Let’s go find a spot to sit and chat. I brought sweet buns!”

Caspar perked up instantly at the mention of the dessert. “Alright!” he yelled, following after her. 

They ended up at the outdoor tea tables, the two leaning their axes carefully by their seats as they sat and pulled up their chairs, Hilda placing the buns on the table and unwrapping the box. Caspar grabbed one immediately, stuffing one in his mouth. “Oh yeah. This is where it’s at!” he cheered, swallowing. “Ok. I’m ready. Lay it on me!” 

However, Hilda was silent for a moment, as if unsure, before slowly beginning to speak. “You know how we talked about living outside of other people’s expectations?” she asked, and Caspar nodded in response, stuffing his mouth with another sweet bun. “Well, I hate axes,” Hilda said conversationally. “I always have. They’re bulky, unladylike, and so hard to wield. But it’s tradition in my family, so I feel like I kinda have to. It just sucks. I know I’m not that good at magic or bows or like… weapons that aren’t axes, but I really wish I could have used something different, you know? Maybe something like a parasol that’s actually a sword. Maybe I should make that.” 

Caspar swallowed and pounded his hands on the table, reeling. “Wait, what? But Hilda, you’re so good with axes! I had no idea you disliked them… at all, really!”

The pink-ponytailed girl snorted. “Yeah, I figured as much. My axe skills are the only thing my brother doesn’t get on my case about. He’s always scolding me for my carelessness, but he can’t be mad at me for that.”

Caspar nodded. He knew the feeling, except in his case, he was just… always scolded. “So why did you start training with axes, then? Couldn’t you have used another weapon if you wanted to?”

Hilda shook her head. “Like I said, it’s tradition. I never even considered it because everyone in my family uses axes. It just didn’t feel like there was any other option. And because I didn’t really like them, I became good enough that people wouldn’t bother me about training. As long as I could prove I could use it once in a while, that was good enough.”

A wan smile appeared on her face, and for the first time, Caspar felt like he could truly see the sadness in Hilda’s soul. “It’s funny… My brother scolds me often, but when I go out of my way to do something, he’s just so surprised that he ends up praising me endlessly, often for no reason. My parents don’t care; Dad’s pretty much handed the keys to the territory to Holst, and him and mom place all of their burdens and expectations on him. They couldn't care less what I do.”

Hilda gripped at her skirt, eyes locked on her lap. “It’s nice because then I can’t disappoint them, but it also means I can’t impress them either. I don’t even know what anyone wants from me. And… it’s because I don’t know that I feel so conflicted. How can I be free to live my own life when I have no idea what I want?! I wish… I wish I knew what people wanted from me so I could decide if I _also_ want that or not!”

The outburst was so sudden that Caspar had no words for her, and as the rest of the area was deserted, her voice seemed to echo through the empty courtyard. 

“...I’m sorry, Caspar,” she said, not looking up as tears dripped onto her skirt. “I just… I don’t know what to do.”

Caspar looked at her, then at the table. Poor Hilda. All she really wanted, he felt, was to be acknowledged for the things that made her so special, the way he had complimented her the other day. She just wanted to be pointed in a direction, one she knew was a distinct possible future, and then decide if she really wanted that. Now came the hard part: trying to tell her all of that. 

He cleared his throat. “Hilda, like I said, I’m not the best at this, but… I think you ought to just do what makes you happy and keep doing it. I love fighting, so I train to get better at it. But you love your jewelry stuff, right? Isn’t that a kind of training too? If you become really, really good at that, then you can do stuff like… I dunno, open a shop or something!”

“But what if my parents and brother don’t approve?” Hilda whispered, and Caspar had to strain to hear her. “What if they don’t like it and say that I can’t, or shouldn’t? What if I let them down?”

Caspar put his hands behind his head, leaning back in his seat. “Then that’s when you tell them that you don’t care, and that you’re gonna do your own thing. You started using axes because you thought you had to, but nobody told you that; you thought that on your own. Now that you know what really makes you happy, you’ve gotta tell ‘em, otherwise you’ll never know how they feel about it.”

Hilda sighed, wiping at her eyes. A small smile peeked through, and she huffed. “For saying you’re bad at this, that was pretty helpful, Caspar. Thanks.”

The brawler laughed. “Of course! And don’t worry, Hilda. If your brother says something mean, I’ll beat some sense into him! Then he’ll appreciate you more!”

Hilda laughed aloud at that. “Ha! Well, I think it would be pretty one sided, but who knows. Maybe one day, you really could take him on, and if you do, I’d love to see it!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caspar blinked, coming back to the present as Theo’s small hands banged against his armor. “HEY! Did you even hear anything I said?! Ugh, why did I even--”

“Hey!” Caspar interrupted, feeling a little embarrassed that he had zoned out like that. “I was listening, promise. I was just thinking of an old friend who had a problem kinda like this, and I’ll tell you the same thing I told her.” 

Theo blinked, and sat back down, staring at Caspar and waiting for him to speak. Caspar continued. “Who made you think you needed to use an axe? Was it your mom? Your sister? Some other people? Or you?”

Theo didn’t answer, but gulped instead. Caspar pressed on.

“If you wanna protect your sister, you should use a weapon that’s comfortable for you. If that weapon’s a bow, then get so good at using it that no bad guy can come close. And if people need someone who can use an axe, well, you at least can learn the basics, just to help around the house with it. Don’t worry about other people’s expectations. Just focus on what you want to do, and you’ll find your own best way to help others.”

Theo was silent for a minute, then started nodding, tears flowing down his face. “...Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. If I’m gonna protect my sis, I should do what feels right, and that’s using a bow.” He sniffled, wiping his nose on his shirt. “Thanks, Caspar.”

Caspar smiled, and patted the kid’s head, standing up and offering him a hand. “No problem. Now let’s get inside; we don’t wanna worry Fran.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Caspar was woken up by the sound of running feet and a 10 year old shouting “Broooooooooo! What’s for breakfast? I’m hungry! I’m hungry!” 

“Really!” came the retort, Fran’s voice echoing into the room. “I’m getting it! Calm down!” 

Caspar yawned, slowly waking up. He quickly got dressed and stepped out into the main area, where he saw Theo arguing with Fran, who was sporting long pants, a loose shirt, and a blue headband today.

“But Fraaaaaaan! I don’t wanna wait for Caspar!”

“Well that’s too bad! We will wait until he--Oh, there you are!” Fran smiled, seeing Caspar. “I’m sorry Theo was so loud. Breakfast is ready when you want it.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “Big bro’s so mean. Anyway!” He bounded up to Caspar, gesturing for him to lean in, and whispered (loudly) in his ear. “Thanks for talkin’ to me last night. It helped lots.”

Caspar chuckled and patted his shoulder. “Noooo problem! That’s why if there’s a problem, they call me!” 

Once they had eaten breakfast and Caspar had gotten his things together, he hefted his pack on his back, ready to set out. “If you want to stay near the mountains,” Fran explained, “you’ll want to keep following this road. By mid-afternoon, you should reach the town of Crellis, and if you mention us to the innkeeper, he’ll give you a discount. The people there know us.”

Caspar nodded, committing the info to memory. “Got it! Thanks for everything, you two! And sorry I couldn’t train ya, Theo!” 

The boy just laughed, waving. “Don’t worry ‘bout it! I don’t think there’s a whole lot you could tell me ‘bout bows!”

Caspar laughed in reply, and waved back, turning his back to the two siblings and continuing his trek down the path. Sometimes it sure did pay to follow his gut, he thought, and maybe, just maybe, this journey was its own sort of training.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to follow my writing [twitter!](https://twitter.com/Saringold_)


	6. Fishing (Linhardt)

“Ah, _finally!”_ Caspar cheered as he crossed the carved stone archway into the next town, the welcoming sounds of laughter and merchants harping their wares music to his ears. He wandered through the streets, looking around and basking in just how cheerful this town was. It located near a lake in the western region of the Alliance, and while it was clear to see the signs of war even here, it seemed to be better populated than many other towns he’d been in, likely because, from what he could see, it was one of the major trading hubs in this area. Finally, after coming to what must have been the town’s main street, he let out a gasp. 

All around him, varied and colorful banners flew, flapping in the wind as all up and down the street, stalls and tents of various colors caught his eye, the display beautiful and dizzying all at once. “Exotic weapons! Come and try!” “Spices, spices! Exotic spices!” “Porcelain from the Empire! 70% off!” came the cacophonous shouts of the stall owners, all of them trying to advertise their wares at once to the interested passerby. Looking around, Caspar quickly tapped the nearest person on the shoulder, and they blinked in surprise, turning to him. “Hey! Excuse me!” he called, trying to be heard over the din. 

“Yeah? What d’ya want?” they asked, and Caspar helplessly glanced at the stalls. 

“What’s going on here? Is it a festival or something?”

“Oh! Nah, it’s Market Day. Every month, all the traveling merchants in the area, an’ even some who ain’t local, bring any goods not sold to the lords over here to sell to everyone else. Wasclau gets a lotta people passin’ through when it happens, so everybody who lives ‘round here looks forward to it.”

Caspar nodded in understanding, giving a little “ohhhh.” Well, that made sense. Thanking the villager, he strode off, his eyes drinking in the sights and sounds of the market. Being among this many people did wonders for his mood; it was just nice to hear people being excited about more mundane things than the war going on. He’d never thought boring chores like shopping could bring him so much joy, but like many other experiences on this journey, he’d been proven wrong. If anything, the lively atmosphere of this market made him think back to the bazaar of Enbarr that had awed him many times when he was young, all sorts of strange and wonderful trinkets and inventions and even ideas on display as well as more fish and herbs and vegetables than one could imagine. He had thought of it as an adventure, gawking at everything that seemed new or interesting or colorful, and despite the noise and crowded conditions, so had--

“And for the last time, I said NO!” Caspar’s peaceful reverie was shattered as he came across a fish stall decorated in various shades of blue with hand painted fish shapes on the sides, the yelling coming from a robust man in short sleeves and a stained apron standing behind the stall. “These fish are for selling, not for charity,” he hollered at what looked to be a group of five children standing before him, their ages ranging from 5 to 15 from what Caspar could tell. They wore dingy patchwork tunics and dresses, some of them not even having shoes. They didn’t look related, but from the way they huddled around each other, Caspar got the distinct impression that they had their own bond of family. 

“Please sir,” pleaded the tallest one, tucking a few long strands of blond hair behind their ear. They seemed to be the leader. “We’ve all lost our parents to the war effort, and--”

“--and that’s not my problem!” the merchant retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Go catch your own fish!” Neither he nor the children looked up at Caspar’s approach, stuck in their standoff. 

“We _can’t,”_ the blonde emphasized, frustrated. “We don’t have the money for bait, and nobody’s hiring children right now. Please, just one meal--”

“I SAID that I--”

“Don’t do that,” Caspar interrupted, hand clenched around the wrist of another one of the group, a red-headed eleven-year-old who had quietly tried to reach out and take one of the larger fish by the tail. He bent down, getting on their level. “Don’t become a thief, kid. It’s a bad idea.” 

Six pairs of eyes turned to him, five in fear and one in shock as he stared the kid down, meeting their chocolate brown eyes with his own sky blue gaze. “You… you…” the stall owner started, and Caspar stood back up, reaching into his back pocket and counting out the money for the fish as indicated on a small placard on the display.

“Here. That should be enough.”

The merchant took the money, counting it out carefully, then nodded. “Thank you for your business, _honored customer,_ ” he said, sneering at the children as he spoke the last two words. Caspar let go of the kid he was restraining, picked up the fish, and held it out to the leader.

“Here. Take it.” 

The merchant watched, wide-eyed. “S-sir! Wait! If you encourage such behavior, they’ll never learn! They’ve already shown criminal intent--”

“They haven’t done anything wrong!” Caspar snapped, and the fisherman recoiled. “What I do with my money is my own business. Later.”

Caspar locked eyes with the blonde, who still looked dumbfounded. “Enjoy,” he said simply, giving the kid a grin, and started walking off down the road, hands clasped behind his head as he basked in the warm feeling running through him. He’d amassed a good amount of funds, mostly from being able to sell furs and spoils he’d gotten from his travels as well as wages from mercenary work, and if he could just prevent those kids from becoming criminals in the first place, well, it was worth it. Sure, the merchant could be right about them turning to a life of crime anyway, but in all honesty, Caspar hadn’t really considered how child criminals would be punished, and quite frankly, he didn’t want to start now. Either way, problem solved.

He walked a few more steps, coming to a quieter street away from the main road, and stopped in his tracks, his hands coming down to his hips. “Alright,” he called, voice echoing down the lane. “Who’s there?” No answer. “I saw something a little ways back and thought I was seeing things, but now I _know_ I’m not alone. Come out!” Hackles raised, Caspar slowly turned around, and behind him, the gang of five walked out, padding up to him. The leader glared at him, although the eleven-year-old now held the fish. 

“Why?” the leader asked simply.

Caspar rolled his eyes. “Ok, hello to you too. Geez. And anyway, I helped because I didn’t wanna see kids become criminals. That’s all.”

The leader scowled at him. “We can look out for ourselves. We don’t _need_ your help.”

Caspar crossed his arms. “Maybe. But if you’d gotten caught, especially by the guard, you know they probably won’t take it easy on you. They might even have split you up. Is that what you wanted?”

The tall one bristled. “No, but--”

“Then there you go,” Caspar concluded. “I don’t care what you do from here. But I didn’t want to be the one responsible for letting you be thieves when there was something I could’ve done to stop you instead.”

With that, Caspar turned away, when he heard a cry of “Wait!” behind him. He looked back to see a third member of the group, an eight-year-old maybe with shoulder-length black hair, reaching out their hand. “Then… could you teach us to fish?”

“Tilly!” the leader barked, and the kid flinched, pulling back their hand.

“But Vierna, if we all knew how to fish, then…”

“But nothing! We can’t afford bait, so that’s that--”

“Wait,” Caspar interjected. “If you’re worried about not being able to buy bait, then I can show you a method that doesn’t need live bait.”

All five children looked at Caspar in surprise, and Vierna narrowed their eyes. “...Alright. Guess we don’t have any choice. You four, take the fish. I’m going fishing.” The rest of the group hesitated a moment, but at Vierna’s nod, they scampered off. The blonde then turned back to Caspar, a resolute look on their face. “Let’s go, metal man.”

Caspar huffed. “No need for sass; I’m the one doing you a favor.” After this, he decided, he was leaving. The sooner he could get this over with, the better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two of them walked through the woods until they found a decently-sized pond. Caspar nodded in satisfaction, and retrieved his folding fishing rod from his pack. Vierna watched intently, kneeling beside him. “So. What’s the secret.”

“Don’t rush me!” Caspar snapped. He strung the fishing rod, then dug through his pack to find a small piece of wood about the width of his palm, carved like a fish, with a carefully etched magic circle in it. Caspar carefully affixed it to the rod, and whispered _“natare”._ Immediately, the bait began to move slightly in his hand, and he cast it into the water, Vierna watching in shock as the bait moved all on its own.

“H-how?” they whispered, turning so they could sit beside him and stare at the marvelous float. Caspar grinned, glad that the other seemed to finally be letting their guard down. 

“It’s a really cool fishing float that uses magic to move! Here, why don’t you try it,” he offered, handing the rod to Vierna, who took it gingerly, staring at the rod as if it would burst into flames or something before finally looking back out at the pond. As they fiddled with it, Caspar cast his mind back all the way to when he had first received that float, so very many moons ago from his then (and hopefully, still) best friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caspar had gone to find Linhardt as soon as the fishing tournament for Flayn was over, spotting him laying under a tree near the dormitories. “LIIIIIN!” Caspar shouted, and Linhardt jolted awake with a tired groan, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Caspar, I was taking a nap! What in the world do you need?”

“Well, I participated in the fishing tournament, and… come to think of it, why weren’t you in the tournament, Lin? You love fishing!”

Linhardt sighed, shifting in his seat as he searched for a better sitting position. “I’m not a terribly competitive angler, Caspar. I enjoy fishing on my own terms, not anybody else’s. Now, what about your participation in the tournament?”

“Oh, right! I wanted to show you the fish I caught for the tournament!” Caspar exclaimed proudly, brandishing the fish before Linhardt. 

“A Teutates Loach, hm? Not a bad size for a 2-star fish,” Linhardt replied with a yawn. 

Caspar scoffed, pointing disbelievingly at the loach. “A 2-star fish?! C’mon Linhardt, this has gotta be a prize winner! I mean, just look at it! It took me forever to catch one!”

Linhardt sighed and shook his head, his short ponytail swaying with the movement. “Sorry, Caspar, but it’s one of the most common fish in the lake. From what I’ve heard, it was the Professor who caught the winning fish, a 5-star Teutates Herring.”

Caspar practically deflated at hearing those words, stomping the ground in frustration and bringing his free hand up to his forehead. “Great. It took me all day to catch this, and it’s almost worthless. Guess I’m not cut out for fishing after all.”

Linhardt frowned, pushing himself up. “That’s not true, Caspar. You caught this, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but it was so hard to concentrate! Every time I tried concentrating on the bait, I just couldn’t keep it together. Sitting there and waiting for it to move was so boring, and I kept looking away at other people and things that were moving so that by the time I looked back at my rod, the bait was gone. I just… argh, if only there was some kind of bait that, I dunno, moved by itself or something so I could keep track of it better--”

“Caspar! That’s it!” Linhardt interrupted, looking at his best friend with an excited expression. Caspar blinked in surprise; Lin rarely smiled like this, so he must have thought of something good.

“Uh, what’s it?”

“What you just said. What if you help me make some animated bait? It would be a perfect means of experimenting with a theory I’ve had for some time on general applications of reason magic. Not to mention that if it works as intended, it could help you become a far better fisherman.”

Caspar nodded, completely sold on the idea. Not only did it sound fun, it would mean he could spend plenty of time with his best friend! “Yeah! Let’s do it!” he shouted, bad mood forgotten as the two brought Caspar’s catch to the monastery proper, feeding it to a cat before they got to work in earnest.

Soon enough, a few weeks had flown by, and one Wednesday evening found the two in the library, sitting at a table covered with books on wind magic. Linhardt had several small blocks of wood before him, in various shapes and sizes, and a thin chisel used for delicate engraving work. “Alright Caspar,” he asked, “could you please hand me that book we found with the magic circle in it?” 

“Uhhh, yeah! Here it is,” Caspar replied, locating the book and placing it before Linhardt, who nodded in thanks. “So… how does this work?”

Linhardt sighed. “Well, there is a rather long and lengthy explanation to it, but for both of our sakes, I’ll keep it brief. In essence, all of the Reason magic that you see performed is because that person learned the proper way to cast it, as discovered by various scholars through careful yet varied experimentation over time. In other words, there is a right and proper way to bend and manipulate the elements to your whim, and by learning how, you can do magic, as can anyone else. However, what we’re doing is taking the basic method of casting wind magic and applying it to this bait.”

“Oooooh,” Caspar responded. “Sounds cool!” 

Linhardt chuckled, equal parts exasperated and amused. “Yes, it is pretty cool. Wind magic relies on the concept of _breath,_ or speaking words to create an effect. The magic circle that appears when someone casts this magic is arranged in a certain way to match those words, meaning that by speaking a certain phrase, the magic circle appears at one’s fingertips and the wind is channeled through it. What I’m doing now is carving a magic circle into this wood so that when the command phrase is said, the wind magic will be channeled through this circle instead and into the wood, making it move on its own. Do you follow?”

Caspar shrugged. “I didn’t really get all that, but I think I’ll get it better once it’s done. You basically just say the word, magic comes out of the circle, and BAM! The bait moves! Right?”

Linhardt huffed and rolled his eyes, but Caspar could see the smile on his face. “In essence, yes. Now, why don’t you go and… I don’t know, punch something, and come back later once I’ve finished the carving?”

“Hmmm… nah.”

Linhardt met Caspar’s gaze, surprised. “No? But I can’t imagine this is the most interesting thing to watch.”

“Well, you’re pretty much doing this for me as much as you, so I wanna see it and learn how to do it in case either of us needs to know how to make a new one. Plus… I like hearing you talk about stuff you’re interested in.”

Linhardt held his gaze for a moment before looking back down to pieces of wood. “Do what you want,” he said, but Caspar could tell from the pleased expression on his face and the softness of his tone that he really was grateful for the company.

Four weeks later, they were ready to try their fifth test batch of floats. They had already done a few trial runs, and now, Linhardt was holding five etched wooden blocks of approximately the right etching, shape, and size (and, as they had discovered, _material_ \--it had taken them quite some time to figure that part out) and now it was time to test. Caspar had watched Linhardt make these enough times to eventually help make them himself once he felt confident enough in his knowledge of the design and specifications, and now, they were closer than ever to figuring it out. 

Linhardt tied the first one to the fishing rod, murmured _“natare”,_ and the float began to move in his hand. He cast it out, and the two waited with baited breath, eyes on their prize. At first, it moved well, but after a few moments, it snapped the string with the force of its movements, and Linhardt quickly yelled _“natare”_ once again, the wood becoming lifeless in the water. The second bobber ran of magic too quickly, the spell not able to sustain itself long enough, and the third simply refused to work at all. Thus, it was time for the fourth.

Once again, Linhardt murmured the command and the float began to move. He cast out the line, and the two watched, and watched, and their concentration turned to joy as the float continued to move and bob as intended for an entire 15 minutes before the spell ran out and Lin reeled it back in. “Caspar! We’ve done it! I believe I’ve noted the specifications for this one in the notes?” 

“Yeah, here it is! The size, material, magic circle, and everything!” Caspar replied excitedly. Linhardt took a quill and made a checkmark next to it, a wide smile on his face. 

“Perfect. Let me just copy this down then…” Linhardt copied the winning formula onto a second sheet of paper, then promptly handed the note to Caspar.

“Uh, why are you giving this to me?” 

Linhardt rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “You were the one who said you wanted to make sure you knew how to make it, just in case.”

Caspar chuckled. “Oh yeah!” He took the paper, rolling it up and putting it in his pocket. “Well, we’ve done it!”

Lin smiled. “Indeed we have. And it was all thanks to your brilliant idea, hence why I think you should have the very first one.” With practiced hands, Linhardt unstrung the bait from the fishing pole and held it out to Caspar expectantly. 

Caspar held up his hands in surprise. “Lin! But… no! You’re the one who made it; you’re the one who came up with the design and everything!”

Linhardt shook his head. “You came up with the idea, helped me make these, experimented with me, and helped gather materials. You’re just as responsible for this as I am. Now take it.”

At his best friend’s insistence, Caspar took the bait carefully and put it in his pocket, truly touched. “But Lin… aren’t you worried that if I use it, other people will wanna know?”

Lin huffed a laugh, placing the rod beside him and turning to face Caspar. “Truth be told, Caspar, I want my ideas, my findings, and my research to benefit people. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I hedonistically drown myself in research because it makes me happy, but truly, I would love it if other people are happy because of my creations as well. I don’t mind if you share this with anyone and everyone who asks. I don’t even care if I lose out on monetary profit because of it. I made this for you and for me, and if it benefits others as well, then that’s an added bonus.”

Caspar just shook his head, thoughts swirling, but in the end, simply smiled and put the bait in his pocket along with the recipe for safekeeping. “Alright then. In that case, let’s get some sweet buns. My treat.”

“It had better be your treat,” Linhardt retorted as he gathered up his things. “Do you know how many naps I’ve skipped to work on this? Far too many. Although sweet buns do sound like a fairly decent way of paying back the debt.”

Caspar laughed, joy ringing across the courtyard. For all that he was and wasn’t, his best friend sure could hold a grudge about his naps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey! Hey, musclehead! Oh, c’mon…” Caspar blinked back his mental daze at the sound of grumbles, turning his head to see Vierna glaring at him, holding the rod against their shoulder and the float in their hand, and in the other, Caspar could see a wriggling fish held tightly by the tail.

“Oh, hey! You caught one! Did the magic run out on the float? It only lasts for 15 minutes at a time; after that, you need to wait about 5 minutes before you can use it again so that the float doesn’t just shatter from overuse. Found that out the hard way.”

Vierna clutched the float, looking at it with a solemn expression. “... look, you said you’d help us learn to fish. How much do you want for this?”

“Nothing. It’s free; you can have it.”

They blinked and cocked their head, confused. “Free? No way. Something like this must be worth _a lot_ of gold.”

Caspar shrugged. “Maybe, but I made this alongside my best friend. I still have the recipe, and I could make this in my sleep thanks to how often I practiced and helped him experiment with it. Just take it, and I’ll tell you the recipe too. Knowing him, he’d much rather have someone like you have it and put it to good use to feed your family than hoard it for profit.”

Vierna looked at him appraisingly, as if trying to see if he was lying, then handed him the rod. “In that case, mind taking this off for me? If we get going, I can make this and the other fish for dinner, and if you’d like… well, you can eat with us.”

Caspar grinned, taking the rod and recasting the spell before casting the line back out. “In that case, I’d better get us another fish. I eat a lot, you know!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to follow my writing [twitter!](https://twitter.com/Saringold_)


	7. Free Day (The Reunion)

It had been years, hadn’t it? About 5 whole years of chaos, turmoil, and a war that had shaken Fódlan to its core. Almost 5 years of travel, exile, and coming to terms with the fact that he could never again set foot in the Empire, else he would be branded a traitor, and even if he wasn’t, he would be forcibly returned to his relatives, which in some ways was the worse punishment. No, Caspar’s path was set the moment he decided to defend Garreg Mach against Edelgard and her forces, and together with his classmates, some becoming as close as family in his mind, they had all promised to meet up there again on the day of the Millenium Festival. No matter how far and wide he’d walked, he had always made sure to keep that date in mind, and now, at long last, it was time.

Caspar could see his breath as he exhaled, making his way into the mountains that ringed the monastery. The Guardian Moon’s winter chill was intense, to be sure, but nothing that he couldn’t handle, and the moonlight from the full moon seemed to shine down upon his path, lighting his way forward. Dried blood on the blades of his gauntlets was all that remained of the many bandits and looters that he had fought in his quest to climb up here, and even though he was taking one of the main roads that Alliance merchants had used to bring their goods to Garreg Mach, it had saddened him to see just how far it had fallen into disrepair.

One foot in front of the other. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. His thoughts turned to his friends. Was Raphael the same as he remembered? A gentle giant except when he wasn’t, big on hugs, meals, and laughter? Was Ashe still himself, doing his best to be a ray of hope and justice in a world that didn’t seem to have the “luxury” of mercy? Maybe Petra was out fighting for Brigid, trying to keep her country safe in a time of unprecedented crisis, and even though she too had been their friend and classmate, Brigid being a vassal of the Empire meant there was a whole lot of other political stuff that Caspar couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around. What about Dorothea, who really just wanted to keep the people she loved and cared about safe, who had proven herself as an equal to and even more than the nobles who had snubbed and looked down on her. Was Hilda back home, helping her family, perhaps putting her own dreams on hold to do what had to be done, grumbling all the while but refusing to turn her back on those who needed her? And of course, he couldn’t possibly forget about Linhardt, his best friend since childhood, who hated and despised war and violence with every fiber of his being and had no business being anywhere close to a battlefield, yet often braved it to make sure that those he cared about came home safe. 

His thoughts turned to all of the other people he’d met, all of his other classmates and teachers and pals who he’d come to know, and he put a hand to his armor, over his heart. He would find his way back to them; he swore it. 

He kept walking up the abandoned road when suddenly, he heard the sounds of battle coming from the direction of the town that had stood so proudly near the monastery. He hustled closer for a better view, and saw pillars of smoke and fire coming from the town. Memories of the townsfolk always being so happy to see the students and officers and knights whenever they ventured down here flashed through his mind, and he felt a pang in his heart thinking of where they had scattered to. Still, this was no time for reminiscing. He broke into a sprint, heading for the town, hoping he would get there in time.

The next few hours passed by in a blur, Caspar barely remembering anything about it except for the sheer, overwhelming relief at seeing all of his friends and classmates in one piece. As soon as he’d been directed to his old bed in his old dorm room, he’d promptly passed out, not waking up until late afternoon of the next day. 

He started walking out of the dorms when suddenly, he saw a familiar blonde brawler making his way out of the dining hall, hands full of food, and from his very soul, he yelled “RAAAAPH!” across the marketplace, startling many of the merchants and servants still setting up. He bounded past them, leaping up the stairs, and his friend had just finished putting his food away when they locked gazes and the beefy blonde broke into a big smile.

“CASPAR!” his voice boomed, and immediately, he grabbed Caspar in a huge bear hug, almost lifting him off the ground. “Look at you! It’s so good to see you!”

Caspar grinned, and he blinked back the tears he could feel starting to form. Warm, fuzzy feelings bubbled up in his heart, and his voice wavered as he answered “Yeah. You too.” 

Raphael set him down and clapped him on the shoulder. “Listen, I’m still moving in and all, but we’ve _gotta_ catch up. You look like you’ve been really workin’ hard these past few years!”

Caspar flexed, showing off his muscles. “You know it! Lemme just walk around a bit and see who’s here, and we can grab a bite to eat and talk over a good meal!” 

“That’s the spirit!” Raphael laughed, heading off to where the dorms used to be. “See you later!”

Caspar nodded gratefully, and headed inside, only to be met with a very large black and white cat. “Meow!” the big guy mewled, and Caspar picked up the cat, smiling down at it. “Hey there, buddy,” he cooed. “You’re a big one, aren’t cha? I bet Ashe would like you; he’s always feeding the cats.” He let the cat go and it scampered off, running past him and heading for the outside. Caspar hummed; speaking of Ashe, hopefully he was around here somewhere. Caspar had a lot to tell him regarding his evolved philosophy on justice, and he had a feeling the other would be pretty happy to hear it.

He continued walking, suddenly hearing familiar voices as he walked out of the entrance hall, and he turned to see Dorothea and Petra sitting together, eagerly talking about this and that. They both looked up as he approached, and their smiles were bright as Dorothea embraced him and Petra looked at him fondly. “Caspar!” the warrior called, eyes bright. “I am having much joy at seeing you, my friend. It is good that you are well.” 

“Aww, thanks, Petra!” Caspar replied with a grin as Dorothea let go. “It’s good to see you too! But, uh, is it really ok for you to be here when Brigid--”

“Do not be worrying about Brigid,” Petra replied. “My grandfather has all things under control, and requested of me that should I long in my heart to come here, I should go.”

Caspar nodded. “Well, it’s great to see you. You too, Dorothea! I’m so glad you’re safe!”

The songstress brought a hand to her mouth, chuckling. “Aww, you’re too sweet, little bro,” a snicker escaping her at Caspar’s wince. “But yeah. I’m fine, and so is the opera company. We managed to all get out safely, but… well, I couldn’t possibly go with them when I had such a major appointment to keep,” she finished with a wink.

Caspar chuckled in understanding. “Yeah, I getcha. Well, I’m really glad to see you safe… big sis.”

He turned and walked off, shaking his head with a smile as he heard Dorothea turn to Petra and excitedly exclaim “Oh. My. Gosh. Petra! He said it! He really said it!” 

He kept walking across the bridge, heading for the cathedral, when he spotted a familiar pink-haired axe-wielder looking out at the view. “Hilda!” he called, waving at her as she turned. “Hey!”

“Caspar!” she exclaimed happily, running up to him. “Gosh, look at _you_! You’re so tall now! And handsome to boot,” she said with a wink. “What have you been up to? We really need to catch up!”

Caspar grinned at her, his hands coming to rest behind his head. “You know it! Wanna come walk around the monastery with me? It’ll be a good time!” 

Hilda just shook her head, her expression telling him everything he needed to know. “Thanks, but no thanks. I just recently got here, and I’m already taking a break from everything I need to do. Enjoy though!”

Caspar shrugged. “Suit yourself! But we’ll get a meal sometime!” he called, before continuing his walk. He passed through the large doors at the other end of the bridge, entering into the cathedral area, and he was about to walk in when something urged him to instead make a left. He was rewarded with the sight of Linhardt, looking so very different from when Caspar had seen him last, but as he turned to glance at who was approaching, his eyes lit up and his expression brightened, and Caspar’s heart felt warm at the fact that yes, throughout everything, this of all things had remained.

“Caspar,” Linhardt said in a voice filled with quiet warmth and gentle surprise. “I’m very glad to see you here; I was about to lay down for a nap, but something told me that I should wait, and now, I’m very glad that I did.”

“Heya, Lin,” Caspar replied warmly. “Can’t believe you made it all the way out here. Must have been a real lotta effort, huh?”

Linhardt groaned, shaking his head, and Caspar was momentarily captivated by the sway of his long hair. “Much, much more than I wanted. But either way, come and sit. Now that the opportunity has presented itself, I think I’d like to catch up with my best friend.”

Caspar grinned, and swooped Linhardt up into a big hug, which the other carefully returned. “Yeah! Me too!” 

They found a comfortable spot against the cathedral wall, sitting down and just talking, letting their stories of their travels and time apart fill the air, and Caspar was filled with a deep, warm sense of peace and belonging. Whether right or wrong, he’d made his choice. He’d bet it all on a brand new future, with the people he could trust the most. Sitting here, basking in the comfort and company of the people he could truly call friends and companions, Caspar finally felt truly satisfied.

At long last, he was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a ride, everybody. Thank you so, so much to everyone who read, commented, and enjoyed this story! Look forward to its companion pieces for Linhardt week and Casphardt week!
> 
> Feel free to follow my writing [twitter!](https://twitter.com/Saringold_)

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow my writing [twitter!](https://twitter.com/Saringold_)


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